


oceans to part

by johnllauren



Series: wrong in the dark [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Cold War, Feelings, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Moral Ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:57:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnllauren/pseuds/johnllauren
Summary: The resort Russia had chosen for them was, admittedly, very nice. And the honeymoon suite he had reserved for America did come to be appreciated in the end, despite Russia’s blatant criticism of capitalism and far-too-obvious assumptions about what they’d be doing during the conference. The Egyptian cotton sheets were pleasant against his skin, and when he sat up he could see the Black Sea Coast very clearly through the window.The congeniality and grandeur of it all almost allowed him to forget he had just slept with Russia.





	oceans to part

**Author's Note:**

> the first part of this takes place during the yalta conference, and the second during the potsdam conference.  
> title of this and the series from "war of hearts" by ruelle, my ultimate rusame song  
> i did this instead of my history break homework

February 1945

 

Russia was cold. 

America realizes this before he even opens his eyes. Russia is still next to him, possibly sleeping but most likely not, and he’s so fucking cold that just being near him is making America chilly. Alfred immediately has the instinct to reach out and warm him with his touch, a touch Russia has told him repeatedly is too fucking hot, but he restrains himself. They aren’t like that. 

“Good morning, Fedka.” Russia says, and America steels himself so he doesn’t recoil at the nickname. 

“Good morning.” 

The resort Russia had chosen for them was, admittedly, very nice. And the honeymoon suite he had reserved for America did come to be appreciated in the end, despite Russia’s blatant criticism of capitalism and far-too-obvious assumptions about what they’d be doing during the conference. The Egyptian cotton sheets were pleasant against his skin, and when he sat up he could see the Black Sea Coast very clearly through the window. 

The congeniality and grandeur of it all almost allowed him to forget he had just slept with Russia. 

Said country is already sitting up and buttoning the top of a wrinkled dress shirt. He seems unphased by the state of things. Russia buttons his shirt up to the collar, covering the bruises America had left there last night. America feels his cheeks heat as he thinks about it. He avoids Russia’s gaze. 

“I’ll see you at the meeting, Amerika.” Russia says as he leaves the suite, shutting the door before America can respond. 

America exhales when Russia leaves, sitting up and letting the comforter slide off him. He tries not to look down at the marks on his chest and lets himself have a moment to compose himself before he gets into the shower. 

The steam from the hot water fogs up the mirror, so America is spared from looking at himself, the circles under his eyes, the purple bite marks that are probably all over his torso. While he’s showering, he discovers two bruises on his hips shaped like Russia’s thumbs. America shudders. 

He dresses in a black button-up and slacks, making sure to button it up all the way. America stands in front of the mirror while he does it, brushing his fingers over the bite marks. God, he wishes he knew what the fuck he and Russia were doing. 

Franklin knocks on the door to talk to him about foreign policy before the conference. Alfred shifts in his collar, pulling it further up his neck. 

America clears his throat. “Come in.” He calls, plastering a smile on his face before Roosevelt even enters. 

“Good morning, Alfred.” Roosevelt says as he walks in. “Did you sleep well? You look…” He doesn’t finish. 

America nods. “Just stressed.” He lies. Roosevelt doesn’t look much better than he does. 

If Franklin doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t let on. Instead he sits down in the armchair across from the bed and folds his hands. “Russia has agreed to join us in the war against Japan. And, as you know-” 

“We can’t let that happen.” America finishes for him. 

After twelve years, they’re in sync. 

America pretends he didn’t hear that news from Russia himself last night, after Russia had slipped into his hotel room, before things had gotten… heated. “What could Russia do that we haven’t already?” America asks instead.

Roosevelt raises an eyebrow: _exactly_. “He - they - Russia wants to reap the benefits after the war ends.” 

“The Manhattan Project.” America comments, looking down at his hands to avoid Roosevelt’s gaze. “Is it almost finished?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then we may have to use it.” America says simply, folding his hands. 

Roosevelt doesn’t respond to that. “Try to convince Russia to come to a conclusion on Poland.” He says instead. 

Franklin pats Alfred on the shoulder as he leaves, wishing him good luck. America smiles at him politely until he leaves, and then he flops down onto his bed and runs his hands through his hair. 

 

“Is Japan attacking you?” 

“Gee, good morning to you too, Artie.” America says. He had stopped by Britain’s hotel room so he didn’t have to walk into the meeting alone, but was now starting to regret that decision. 

“It’s a serious question. You look like shit.” England says. 

“No, I’m not being attacked, I just feel like shit.” America replies. “Guess I’m just allergic to commies.” 

“He’s an _ally _.”__

__“For now.”_ _

__“What’s that supposed to mean?”_ _

__“It means the war’s almost over and he’s dangerous.” America responds._ _

__England rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and you spend the night with him to prove how dangerous he is.”_ _

__America wishes he could disappear into his shirt right now._ _

__

__July 1945_ _

__

__The war had worn heavily on both of them. Russia showed famine on his face - his cheekbones protrude more than usual, undereyes purple. America has heard about what was happening to Russia’s people, but there was nothing he could do - war was war, and America didn’t look much better anyway._ _

__Russia’s war was over - or, it was supposed to be. Germany had surrendered. VE Day rang in with as much celebration as they could muster, which was admittedly not very much._ _

__Without the threat of fascism looming over them, there was hardly anything tying them together. Hitler was dead somewhere, and so was any reason for capitalism and communism to get along. Japan was the only thing left, and America wasn’t going to let Russia get his hands on the Pacific theatre, not if he could help it. To the victor go the spoils, any country knows that. And America was still devoted to unconditional surrender - an end that had suddenly started looking more attainable._ _

__“You have a new leader.” Russia comments. He’s sitting upright in his chair, not the least bit relaxed._ _

__“Yes. Roosevelt died.”_ _

__“A coup?” One bushy blonde eyebrow raises._ _

__America pauses to think Russia is testing him before he realizes Russia is always testing him._ _

__“A burst vein in his head.” America responds. “Goes to show you that human leaders shouldn't be in power long.”_ _

__If Russia notices the jab against him, he doesn’t mention it._ _

__“How is the new one?” He asks instead._ _

__“I’m sure your boss will tell you all about him when this is over.”_ _

__Russia smiles, composed entirely of ice and diplomacy. “I’d rather have a country’s opinion of him. Besides, if we’re going to fight Japan together we must continue to be allies.”_ _

__America bristles. “There’s no need.”_ _

__“To be allies?” America swears he just saw Russia’s eyes change color._ _

__“For you to fight Japan.” When Russia doesn’t respond, he continues. “I have a weapon. Something that will change the game. Instant unconditional surrender.”_ _

__Russia doesn’t pause before saying, “Be careful who you use it on.”_ _

__“What’s that supposed to mean?”_ _

__Ivan smiles. “Whatever you want it to mean, _solnishko_.” _ _

__He sits up straighter. “Don’t call me that. This isn’t the place.”_ _

__The shudder that runs through him is involuntary. If he closes his eyes, he can still see them in the cabin, could still hear Russia’s sighs against his ear, see the purple bruises on his hips that his fingers ghosted over for weeks afterwards. He doesn’t meet Russia’s eyes._ _

__“It could be.” Russia comments. He poses the question without deigning himself to be the first to ask._ _

__America raises an eyebrow._ _

**Author's Note:**

> i might... add more to this universe.  
> my tumblr: lafayettesass


End file.
